“And you were barely alive yourself. You weren’t eating. You weren’t sleeping. Your doctor had warned me that another shock could destroy you.”
“So you decided for me?” I said.
The pain in my voice made her flinch.
“No. I made the worst mistake of my life. I told myself I would wait until he was stronger. Then weeks became months. The Reeds filed for guardianship while the hospital investigation dragged on. By the time I realized how wrong it had become, they had moved away.”
“Did Daniel know?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Never. That is why I said not to tell him yet. Not because he doesn’t deserve to know, but because this will break him too. We need facts first.”
I stumbled back.
Facts.
My dead son might be alive, sitting in my kitchen, eating cookies with his twin sister.
Following the Thread
That evening, I barely spoke.
Daniel noticed, of course. He always noticed.
“Is something wrong?” he asked after Susan went to bed.
I looked at his tired, kind face and almost told him everything.
But my mother’s words stopped me.
Facts first.
The next morning, while Daniel was at work and Susan was at school, my mother and I went through the old box of hospital papers.
At the bottom was a folded note I had never seen.
Margaret Reed.
There was an old phone number, an address, and one sentence written in my mother’s handwriting:
Baby boy has honey-colored eyes.
I felt sick.
I searched the name. Margaret Reed had passed away two years earlier. Her husband, Thomas, had died before her. But there was another name attached to an old obituary.
Their grandson: Noah Reed.
Noah.
My hands shook as I printed everything I could find.
Noah lived with his aunt now. His parents—his adoptive parents—were gone. He had recently moved into our town because his aunt had taken a job nearby.
By the time Susan brought Noah over again for their project, I had barely slept.
I watched him more closely this time.
He thanked me for every glass of water.
He laughed when Susan teased him.
He touched the edge of the blue notebook on the table and said, “That’s my favorite color.”
Blue.
Clark’s color.
I nearly cried right there.
When he went home, Susan came to me with a puzzled smile.
“Mom, isn’t it weird?” she asked.
“What?”
“Noah and I both hate peas. We both tap our pencils when we think. And Mrs. Benson said we explain things the same way.”
She laughed.
“It’s like he’s my twin or something.”
I turned away before she could see my face.
